


Come In From The Cold

by thaliastxrk



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Attempted Sexual Assault, Depression, Drug Use, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is A Sweetheart, Underage Drinking, tags to be updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20046187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thaliastxrk/pseuds/thaliastxrk
Summary: Peter Parker's life has been a series of unfortunate events that seemed to have no end in sight. Living on the street, scraping to get by, Peter is sure his good days are gone for good. Until he meets a man that only wants to take care of him, and Peter is scared to let him.(AKA Peter is homeless and I suck at summaries.)Note: I do not give consent for this work, or any other of my works, to be posted on another site other than this one.





	1. A Series of Unfortunate Events

**Author's Note:**

> holy fuck. 
> 
> where to start. i started this outline a good eight months ago. stopped working on it. passed it on. randomly got inspiration; asked if the person ever did anything with it, they didn't, so it was passed back and now here we are!
> 
> i can't thank Less-Than-Wholesome enough for the help he gave me on this. we basically started the outline together (cough, he did, cough) and helped it not be a huge fuckin' mess.
> 
> i'm gonna try and update as quickly as i can - my goal is every two weeks at the moment, but no promises.
> 
> anyway... enjoy!

Peter couldn’t believe it; dropping his head back and letting out a loud sigh into the cold night. His stuff had been stolen again. He thought he had hidden it better. He had sworn to himself that he’d hidden it better. His bag, thicker coat, clothes, and the sleeping bag had all gone. He was left with two dollars in his pocket and a half working phone that was close to dying. Peter was always unsure of why he even kept a phone. The only time he would ever talk to someone was when he would get the odd call to say there was room at the local shelter, or a so-called friend asking him for favors which he couldn’t fulfill. He sniffled, holding back tears. He hadn’t cried in over a year and he wasn’t gonna start now. Not for anything, or anyone. He walked out of the alleyway and looked around for somewhere to sit down, somewhere to possibly spend the night. A store doorway caught his eyes and he made his way across the street, trying not to meet anyone's gaze as he sat down and curled himself up into a ball. 

He hated this. Hated everything about it. No one wants to be seventeen and stuck in a store doorway, praying for someplace warm to stay; but, in the past two years no amount of praying ever bought him a warm bed, or a decent shower. Begging didn’t work the way it had done when he first began sleeping on the streets, simply because he’d grown up. His innocent eyes had vanished, and people had stopped being sympathetic and kind. He was no longer a little kid on the street. In their eyes, he was just another homeless junkie looking for his next fix. When in reality, all he wanted was a hot drink and something to eat. Something to keep him going day to day. Peter soon stopped believing that a home was out there for him someday. Each day that he spent on the street, each time he was turned away, and forced out of doorways and benches just stripped away any remaining hope.

Peter knew he was doing better than most. Most of the young boys he’s come to know have turned to drugs and alcohol as an escape and prostitution or other means to get a warm bed at night. Peter just flat out refuses. He pictured his parents, his aunt, and uncle, looking down on him and judging. It helps to stop him from doing stuff like that, even though he had come close more than a few times. He did what he needed to do. He would pickpocket, just enough to get some food or a warmer jacket. He’d always find a way of returning the wallet. He’d steal from stores, but only when absolutely desperate. What else could he do? No one was willing to just hand money over to a teenager sitting on the street.

Peter sniffled again into the cold air, pulling his torn jacket tighter around his body, like it was gonna keep the cold night away, and wrapped his arms around himself, dropping his head down. It was at times like this that he sat and re-lived every moment of his life so far. He had lost his parents when he was young. He was five when the police officers showed up at his uncle’s door to inform them that they had unfortunately died on the way to the hospital. It was then when his aunt and uncle had taken him in. Where else was he gonna go? He liked to pretend that it was because they wanted him, but something else told him that he was their burden, they had to take care of him. There was nowhere else for him to go.

He did honestly adore both his aunt and uncle. As a kid, it was what he looked forward to on the weekends. He had a good relationship with both of them, but he was closer to his uncle. They did their best for Peter. He didn’t have what most kids had. But, they did their best nonetheless. He would get treated as much as they could to new toys and days out when they could. He never went without at Christmas time and on his birthday. He understood how hard they worked. Barely seeing his aunt and uncle together. When one would come home, the other would go off to their shift. He made sure to never hound them, he knew that his aunt needed to sleep during the day, and he was to play quietly for a few hours during the day as his uncle worked. She would always spare half an hour to actually sit and play with him before his uncle got home and she kissed him goodbye before heading out the door. Sunday’s he cherished, it was the only day neither of them worked and it was always family day. He lived for that day.

There were three days that always replayed in Peter’s head. The first was Christmas day when he was nine. They had a bad year. Shifts canceled left, right, and center. Money was tight. Peter had spent from September to Christmas eve begging for a Tonka Garage Ricochet RC Vehicle. Peter had been obsessed with getting one from the moment it was announced and advertised on their small TV. Peter had been desperately hoping that he was gonna get it. He had to get it. He hadn't shut up about it. It's all he spoke about, the only thing he really asked for. He never asked for anything. Christmas Day came, and he was hurrying through his gifts, ignoring his aunt and uncle who were telling him to slow down and take his time, that there was no rush. He got to the final gift, and he didn't get it. The one thing he wanted. He didn't get it.

_ ''Peter, please don't be sad. Maybe you'll get it for your birthday.'' His aunt tried, but Peter couldn't stop the tears of disappointment. _

_ ''I never ask for anything!'' Peter cried. ''I never ask! This is the first time I asked for something! You couldn't do it just this once! Just this once!'' _

_ ''Peter Benjamin Parker! That is enough!'' His uncle scolded. ''We worked hard for all of this. Your aunt especially.'' _

_ ''I don't care!'' Peter shouted, and quickly got up from the floor, pushing the wrapping paper aside and heading for the door. _

He didn't know how long he ran for, but he soon ended up at a small park by his aunt and uncle's apartment. He remembers just sitting on a bench, just in thin pajamas, and crying. He didn't last long, the cold soon set in and he began to make his way home. Peter was coming around a corner when he spotted his uncle. He was just about to call out when he heard the gunshot. The rest of the day was a blur, a mix of blood on his hands, screaming, shaking, and pleading for help. Watching as his aunt clung to him as he cried.

Peter never got over it. The noise rang in his ears for months, waking him up at night. If he hadn't of been such a brat, if he had understood, if he hadn't had ran out, his uncle would be right here, still alive and still with him. He would've still been here to take care of him. Peter had never allowed himself to feel forgiveness, he felt heavy with his death every single day. He hated every time he would laugh, or smile after his uncle died. Every good day he spent with his aunt, he would feel guilty for. He felt like he had been the one to shoot the gun. Like he was the one who took his aunt's husband away.

The second day that haunted him was the day his aunt died. The day that he lost everything. The day he really did have no one and nothing left. Peter always thought that she was perfectly healthy. Undetected cancer, went in her sleep. Everyone told him that it was the best way. Complete strangers telling him that it was better that she didn't know, that she stayed healthy until she died. Peter had to agree, it was better than suffering. It was just too sudden. Too quick. Things were just getting better. His aunt had just got a new job. She didn't have to work as much, and she got paid better. They were both smiling more. They were enjoying life, they were moving on. He was finally feeling happy, and it was ripped away.

Things just got worse from there. He was taken from school in the middle of the day, and sat waiting outside an office while a woman filled out paperwork and spoke to the school administrators. Then he was led to a car. The woman didn't speak a word and he had never been so confused in his life. They drove for what seemed like hours, eventually ending up at a strange white building surrounded by a wire fence. He was shown inside and had to wait in a small room with white walls and small chairs that seemed to be for toddlers. 

It was then he was giving a huge bag full of clothes and shoes, and Peter knew exactly where he was going. He was told that he was going to group housing for young children and teenagers. At twelve years old, he absolutely did not want to be there. He wanted to be at home, with his parents. Talking about school, and how his day went. He didn’t want to be making up a single bed, with another one on the other side of the room with two strangers watching his every move. He didn’t want to be at the children’s home. He didn’t really want to be in any home. It was that day that Peter swore to himself that he would never cry again. 

He never really adjusted to life in a group home. He didn’t get used to the different security levels of kids. Fucking children. He couldn’t understand why that even existed. He got through his days with his head down and his mouth shut for the first few weeks. He wanted the staff to like him and was hoping they wouldn’t bother him at all if they thought he wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t until his ‘’roommate’’ moved out, after bragging the entire week that he was moving in with a foster family, that Peter started to act out. He started to refuse to do chores, and then slowly began to refuse to go to school which ended in Peter having to stay in his room almost all the time. The only time he was allowed to leave it was when it was dinner time. 

He can remember the first fight he had while in the group home. All of them kind of just morphed into one after that. He can’t remember what started the fight, but it was just as dinner ended and everyone else was allowed to go and do whatever they wanted. Peter was told to head back to his room, and of course, one kid just had to make a passing comment about the fact that Peter was the weird kid, no family, dead parents, and unwanted. He snapped, turning back around so fast that he almost fell straight to the floor but he found his footing and grabbed a fist full of the boy’s hair, slamming his head down onto the table. This resulted in a full fight, the other teens in the room chanting names and shouting, and soon they were pulled away from each other by staff; bloody and bruised afterward. Peter got the blame, the other kid got sympathy, as always.

Things just continued to spiral downwards from there. Fight after fight, constant yelling, and refusal to go to school kept Peter confined to his room even more than before. He didn’t get to join everyone at the dinner table, he wasn’t even asked to do chores anymore, and he got no interaction whatsoever. This didn’t bother him, of course. It’s exactly what he wanted. To be left alone, but being alone for so long just took its toll, and soon he was drowning in depression. Sleeping all day, crying all night. Longing for a family he had no chance of getting back. Months and months passed, and no slight mention of ever getting a foster family. Peter didn’t want to admit it, but soon enough, all feelings just turned to numbness, he felt nothing; and it petrified him. Petrified him to the point of dragging a blade across his arms and legs any chance he got to just… Feel something. The pain was all he had, all he thought he’d ever had.

The cutting stopped being helpful after a couple of weeks, and Peter had managed to gain a friend in a shady new kid who introduced him to multiple different drugs because he claimed he ‘’understood what he was going through’’, he had been there. So, Peter listened, and tried, and kept going back when he couldn’t deal with not feeling. He began getting into fights again, just to stand there and take whatever beating he could, leaving him coughing blood and wheezing in the hallway while being kicked in the ribs while the other kids chanted and cheered. The staff had gotten to the point where they would just stand and wait for it to be over before helping Peter because it was only going to happen the next day; or even within the next few hours. All hope was lost, and Peter just couldn’t care anymore.

Until a few weeks after he turned fifteen. Peter had somehow managed to get fostered by a family that he hadn’t even met. He was packed up, pushed into a car and drove to a nice neighborhood and walked to the front door where the social worker rang the doorbell, walked him in, filled out a few forms with his new ‘’parents’’ and left him there, but of course, not before she warned them about Peter’s behavior, and attitude. He spent the rest of the day getting to know the people who would be caring for him. Adrian had a construction job, while Doris worked in some office, Peter didn’t take too much notice, and he really didn’t care. Their daughter was nice, Liz. Peter thought that maybe they’d actually get along. Maybe they could become real friends. They promised him that they would be there to help him, to care, and give him a home for as long as he needed and that he could go to them with anything that he needed. Peter feigned a smile and offered a polite thanks, before asking if he could go to his room.

It took Peter a long while to speak more than a few words to his new ''family.'' There was nothing wrong with them. They were entirely normal, nothing strange about them. They adored their daughter, and in some strange way showed that kind of adoration for Peter. Peter learned to warm up to them when he sat down for the family's nightly dinner and announced that he'd scored a perfect mark on his recent test.

_ ''Peter! That's fantastic! Well done!'' Doris said, smiling across the table at him. _

_ ''Really proud of you, Pete. Good job,'' Adrian told him, a huge smile on his face, and Peter couldn't help but find himself smiling back. _

_ ''Liz helped me a lot. She's been really good to me,'' Peter replied, and Liz reached across the table and squeezed his hand while offering a grin. _

Things were going okay, they were; they weren’t bad, but Peter just couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness and numbness. He had managed to stay away from drugs, even with all the offers from the kids at his new school. He had stopped cutting for fear of his foster parents freaking out if they ever found a mark on him; throwing him right out of the door. It was one bad day. Just one. He just needed to feel something, just a little something. He thought he locked the door behind him, but he didn’t and Liz walked in the absolute wrong moment. The worst moment ever. Peter was there, sitting on the bathroom floor, shorts pushed down and dragging a razor across his thigh. Peter quickly dropped the razor when his eyes locked with hers and attempted to cover up what he was doing.

_ ''Peter... What- Why? I don't...'' Liz attempted, but couldn't seem to find the words. _

_ ''It's nothing. I-It's not what you think. I'm not- I mean-'' Peter just sighed and dropped his head. What was the point? She'd already seen, he'd already been caught.  _

_ ''I'm not okay,'' Peter sniffled, tears falling freely. ''I'm so…’’ Peter took in a sharp breath, shaking his head, ‘’Fucking not okay.'' _

_ Liz then rushed over, kneeling on the floor next to him. ''It's okay. I'll help you. I'm here. Let me clean you up,'' Liz said, quickly standing back up to open the bathroom cabinet door and grab a small first aid kit. _

It got easier. The pain never left his heart, but it got easier. He really began to settle and became close with Liz. How could he not? She helped him stop all the harmful stuff he was doing to himself. She allowed him to sleep in her bed when Peter couldn't be alone. Made sure he didn't do anything stupid. He was doing so goddamn well, until some kid he'd never even spoken to before asked Liz why she was speaking to ''weird, orphan kid.'' Peter just sniffled and turned away, heading for the doors while Liz shouted after him. He didn't turn back, just kept heading for the doors, and eventually through them and walked all the way home.

He didn't expect anyone to be home. Usually, Adrian works until Liz and Peter finish school, picking them up on his way home, and then Doris coming home just before dinner. So, when he reached the driveway he was both confused, and relieved. Confused as to why his foster father wasn't at work and relieved because there was someone there to comfort him. Peter slowly opened the front door, expecting a lengthy questioning on why he wasn't at school, and deciding between telling the truth behind the reasoning or making up an excuse.

Adrian spotted him as soon as he walked through the front door. Of course, he did, how did Peter really think this was going to go? 

_ “What’s going on, Pete? Why aren’t you at school?” Adrian asked him, leaning against the kitchen counter, staring straight at him as Peter walked through the door and closed it behind him. Peter was thankful that Adrian didn’t look angry, just a little bit confused.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “I- I mean... People are horrible,” Peter broke, sniffling and bringing up a hand to cover his eyes, willing the tears in his eyes not to fall. Peter sighed a moment later and dropped his hand, shrugging. “I’m the weird, orphan kid!” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Adrian sighed sympathetically and walked towards him. “Come on, let’s sit down. Tell me what happened.” Peter nodded and turned to walk to the couch, sitting down on the edge and waited for Adrian to sit down next to him.  _

  
_ “I was standing with Liz, we were talking about some test or something like that, and her friend came up to her and just said, ‘Why are you talking to the weird, orphan kid?’, and I just... Left. I don’t know why it’s bothered me so much. I guess it’s just knowing what people really think of me,” Peter explained and was soon pulled into Adrian’s side, his arm thrown over Peter’s shoulder.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Peter just let himself sink into Adrian’s side, enjoying parental comfort, and affection. Adrian waited for Peter to stop crying, and calm himself before he spoke to the boy, “You are not weird.’’ Adrian then rubbed a hand down Peter’s back, and Peter sunk closer to him and looked up, sniffing. ‘’You’re not an orphan at all. You’ve got a family, and we adore you. Kids are brutal and I’m sure you’ve proved your intelligence while being there. It’s jealousy. It’s always jealousy. You’re a good looking boy, they’re definitely jealous of that.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Peter laughed sadly, shaking his head. “I’m not good looking. Not by a shot. No chance.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Sure you are! You’re a stunner, Pete. Surprised girls aren’t swarming you,” Adrian chuckled, but Peter just shook his head again. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Girls don’t interest me,” Peter said casually, before realizing what he had just said and quickly snapped his head up to look at Adrian to explain. “I mean- It’s not- I just...”  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Pete! It’s okay,” Adrian promised, offering a huge smile. “So what’s going on there? Gay? Bisexual?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Um, I-I’m gay,” Peter replied quietly and Adrian offered a small squeeze to his hide.  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “Thank you for telling me, and trusting me. I’m proud of you, Pete,” Adrian praised before adding, ‘’Why don’t we do something to cheer you up?’’

_ ‘’Like what?’’  _

_ Peter smiled sadly at the thought of his foster dad wanting to actually help him feel better and watched Adrian’s face as he grinned while bringing a hand up to push Peter’s hair back away from his face, fingers then sliding down his face and to his lips, and then to the back of his neck, bringing Peter in closer to him and before Peter could even realize what was happening, his lips met Adrian’s and Peter quickly pushed himself back, breath catching in his throat as he shook his head.  _

_ ‘’Shush-shush,’’ Adrian cooed, moving closer to Peter again who sunk as far as he could into the couch, an attempt to get away; to show he didn’t want this since his voice didn’t want to cooperate with him. ‘’I’ll make you feel better, sweetheart. Just be good, and let me.’’ _

_ Peter felt sick as Adrian once again crowded his space and kissed him again, a hand sliding up his legs as Peter bit back a sob and tried to turn his head, but Adrian soon brought up his other hand and locked his fingers into Peter’s hair, and pressing his body down onto him, trapping him in place and his hand continued to move upwards and attempted to get Peter’s mouth open with his tongue. Peter was frozen up until Adrian slid his hand up Peter’s crotch, to which Peter jolted up, attempting to push Adrian away. Adrian just grabbed the tops of Peter’s arms and held him back down on the couch as Peter sobbed and pleaded. _

_ ‘’Stop fighting and stay still,’’ Adrian growled against his mouth and Peter just continued to fight and struggle which resulted in a sharp slap to his cheek, shocking him enough to still his movements. ‘’I told you to be good. If you want a roof over your head, and food in your stomach you’ll do, as, you're told,’’ Adrian empathized every last word with a _

_ sharp slap to a different part of Peter’s body, making tears fall from his eyes and his pleas for him to stop to get louder. Peter continued to struggle as Adrian attempted to undo his pants, moving back a little; so, Peter took the opportunity to bring his leg up, kneeing Adrian right where it hurt the most. _

_ A string of profanities and names fell from his mouth as Peter quickly shoved him off the couch and scrambled to get up. The second he got on his feet, a hand wrapped around his ankle, pulling him to the floor. Adrian was soon back on top, leaving Peter begging once again to be let go, legs kicking and pushing against the force of Adrian’s hands gripping his arms in an attempt to flee again. Peter felt vomit seep up into his throat as Adrian began to kiss his neck, his body weight now holding Peter down, as one hand came up to his hair to keep Peter’s head on its side for better access to his neck. _

_ Adrian hushed him, and spoke lowly between kisses, ‘’Just behave for Daddy, sweetheart.’’ Peter choked out a sob and momentarily stopped fighting as tears began to flow again. ‘’I’ve been good to you, haven’t I, Pete?’’ Adrian asked, and a sharp tug on his hair made Peter jerkingly give a nod in reply which was rewarded by a grin. ‘’So, be good to me. Be good for Daddy, baby. I know you can be. I promise you’ll feel better afterward.’’ _

Peter’s chest felt like it was going to cave in on him, sobbing loudly and taking in sharp breaths as he could feel himself begin to give up, begin to stop fighting. Adrian then made the mistake, or in Peter’s case; the freeing move by lifting himself up a little which Peter quickly scrambled to once again knee him in the groin, push him back and wipe the vase sitting on a nearby table before quickly moving over to where Adrian was knocked back against the couch and shatter it over his head. Peter waited for Adrian to move, but after a few moments Peter quickly got up. He snagged his backpack from where it was left near the couch and headed for the front door, stopping momentarily to grab the wallet from Adrian’s hung up coat and bolted out of the door. He continued to run for as long as he could until his lungs willed him to stop. 

Peter stood on the sidewalk, breathing deep and sniffling when he quickly felt the bile rise in his throat and he rushed over to a bush and threw up the little he had in his stomach. Peter coughed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve before he began walking slowly; continuing on down a street; until he came to a bus stop, which luckily the bus pulled up at the side of the road just as Peter sat down on the bench. He paid and went to the back of the bus, sat down, pulling his hood over his head, and slumping into the seat; leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

Peter woke to the bus driver shaking his shoulder and telling him to tell him he had to get off the bus. Peter nodded while he bit back a yawn and stretched as he stood up and walked off the bus. Peter walked into the station and decided he should probably just sleep there for the first night since it was already getting dark and he didn’t want to carry on wandering around. Peter’s phone then buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to reveal texts from Liz wondering where he was, followed by texts and missed calls from Adrian. A list of names, calling him ungrateful; telling him he couldn’t ever go back, and finishing off by calling him a thief. The last one reminding Peter of the wallet he took. Peter pocketed the phone and then looked around and spotted an ATM. He sat himself down, fishing the wallet from his backpack.

Peter looked through the wallet, counted through the cash which came to almost two hundred bucks, as well as finding a debit card and two credit cards; they were useless without the pin numbers to go along with them. Peter said a small prayer in his head and carried on through the wallet, pulling out a small piece of folding paper, revealing the three pin numbers to the cards. Peter breathed a sigh of relief and also laughed dryly at the thought that Adrian was stupid enough to write down his pin numbers and keep them in his wallet. Peter then went over to the ATM and began going through the cards, matching the pin numbers, and withdrawing what he could from them; he’ll try again tomorrow.

Peter afterward sat down on the floor, the seats now taken for the last buses of the night, resting his back against the cold brick as he began to think about what had just happened to him; pulling sobs from him once again, using his arm to cover his eyes as he wept, the fabric of his hoodie soon becoming damp. Just as he was calming down he felt a hand touch his shoulder, and a deep voice asking if he was alright. Without thinking, Peter jumped up quickly, stepping back from the man in front of him who stepped forward and reached out a hand again; repeating the question. Peter flinched and bolted away from both the man and the bus station where he had planned to spend the night. Where the hell was he going to go now?

Peter roamed the streets of Queens, eventually winding up in front of the apartment building where he used to live with his aunt. He stood and stared up at the window to his old apartment, soft light drifting through the curtains and the shadow to a couple and a child dancing in the shadows. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry before continuing to walk in search of somewhere to sleep. Peter eventually came across a bench in the park, he used his backpack as a pillow and curled up under his coat and willed himself to sleep. The next few days were spent withdrawing money from the stolen card, which soon ended up canceled, but Peter had enough to last him for a few weeks as long as he was careful. He bought a cheap phone and a sleeping bag as well as a new thick coat to keep him from the coming bitter winter air. He found a place where he could hide away from the states of other people as he slept. He made sure to keep away from groups and keep to himself. It was better that way, safer that way.

Peter spent a couple of weeks searching for jobs, cleaning, and changing in public bathrooms before interviews, but nothing ever came of it. He was either too young, too inexperienced, or just plain too homeless. He had a small supply of food, but money was continuing to run low, so he decided to just go slowly through the small bottles of water and food which should get him through the next week. It was going well until he woke up to find his backpack, sleeping bag, and money had gone. All he was left with was his phone in his back pocket, which whoever stole his stuff must not have come across and the clothes on his back. 

He continued to try and find work, begged on the streets, and pleaded with other homeless people to help get him into the shelters they were going too, but he was either ignored or straight up told no. It had been a good four days since Peter last ate, he carried on trying to beg after he just decided to give up on ever finding a job. One night someone finally handed him five dollars and Peter rushed to get a drink and something to eat; inhaling the food and water down. Peter then went on his nightly search to find somewhere to sleep since the old spot he found was taken over by others, but he kept getting moved on or yelled at by people who would find him curled up on doorsteps, or in between dumpsters. 

Peter eventually gives up for the night, walking down streets and alleyways for places to sleep. He found a bench but was moved on by a policeman who offered the fakest sympathetic smile Peter had ever seen. He finally came across a store doorway, which sheltered him a little bit from the rain and bitter air. He sniffled and wiped his eyes as he curled up and dreamed of a time where his life wasn’t such a huge clusterfuck, and prayed again for something, or someone, to save him.


	2. Come Home With Me (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh boi. i finally got back to writing this. i already have the next chapter underway, so hopefully, it won't take 10 months this time.

Peter woke up shivering the next morning to his phone ringing. He reached into his pocket with shaking hands and quickly answered the phone. 

‘’Hey, you wanna come and get cleaned up? There might also be a room for you tonight if you’ve got the money,’’ The voice on the end of the phone spoke, and Peter sighed thankfully. It had been nearly two weeks since his last shower.

‘’You got clean clothes?’’ Peter asked, and the guy hummed.

‘’Yeah. Got something else for you too,’’ He replied and Peter winced a little bit. He hated it. He needed it but hated it.

‘’I really shouldn’t. I’ve been doing well, a-and I’m feeling okay. I think I’m good,`` Peter said, before coughing a little into the cool air. Taking drugs was one of the things, Peter never ever considered himself to do, but going through grief and pain and losing everything can change that; it’s only every once in a while, so it’s okay. At least that’s what he told himself.

‘’Fair enough, man. Get down here.’’ And with that, Peter hung up the phone and got to his feet, making his way over to the homeless shelter.

Peter left the shelter feeling slightly better. Well, not better. Cleaner, fresher. Peter headed back towards the store doorway where he slept last night, with plans of just sitting and begging all day, but along the way he noticed a fancy car pull up outside a small cafè. Peter took a few deep breaths before pulling his broken earphones out of his pocket, placing them in his ears before hiding the wire. He walked slowly, glancing up until he caught sight of the man stepping out of the car. He picked up his pace, and just acted like he wasn’t paying attention to anything at all, eyes cast down to the floor; so, that way when he got close enough and bumped into the man, he could slip his wallet out of his pocket without him knowing. 

Peter had slowly become a pro at this dance. He only resorted to it once he was absolutely starving, and he hadn’t eaten in almost a week; and only ever did he steal from better-off folk who wouldn’t miss a few dollars. He had no choice. He’d grown up, people were no longer taking pity, and most of the time he was just scoffed at. People had even gone as far as to tip the last of their drinks over Peter and laugh as they walked away.

Peter let out a steadying breath as he got closer to the man, who seemed to be in a world of his own; eyes locked on a screen walking directly towards Peter. Peter soon bumped shoulders with the man, smoothly taking his wallet from his inner pocket, and quickly locked eyes.  _ Damn. Cute. _

‘’God, Sir!  _ I’m so sorry!  _ I wasn’t looking where I was going and-’’

‘’Hand back the wallet, kid,’’ The man cut off, and Peter’s eyes widened and he stuttered to find words to get himself out of it. It worked every single time, how did he know?

‘’Sir, I didn’t take your wallet,’’ Peter tried, recovering quickly, batting his eyelashes, and soothing out his voice. 

‘’I’m not stupid. Hand it over,’’ He demanded and Peter just shrugged his shoulders.

‘’I don’t have it!’’ Peter insisted, clutching the wallet in his coat pocket. ‘’I might have knocked it from you, but I swear, I don’t have it.’’

The man then let out an irritated sigh before reaching out to grab Peter’s arm, dragging him up close to the man. Peter tried to pull back, but he tightened his grip; Peter couldn’t stop the tears welling up in his eyes. Peter tried to look everywhere, but at the man’s face, but when he finally did he soon realized who had a hold of his arm. Tony fucking Stark. He had tried to steal Tony Stark’s wallet. Peter sniffled and tried to pull back again. 

‘’Sir, I’ll give it back, I’m so sorry. I haven’t eaten, I haven’t eaten for so long. I’m so, so sorry. Please let me go. Please don’t call the cops or anything.’’ Tears were flowing freely by the end of Peter’s apology, sniffles and hiccups beginning to form. ‘’Please, Mr. Stark. I’m so sorry.’’  _ Take better fucking notice, you dumbass.  _ Peter waited for the man to tell him to save it, to look forward to a ride in the back of a police car, but Stark’s face softened and he slowly released Peter from his grip.

‘’How do I know that’s true?’’ Tony asked before shaking his head. ‘’It doesn’t matter. Just hand it over, kid.’’

‘’Yes, Sir,’’ Peter replied, pulling Tony’s wallet from out of his coat pocket and held it out to Tony, which Tony plucked from his hand and looked him over. This made Peter curl his arms around himself, an attempt to hide the clothes he was wearing, feeling self-conscious. His jacket was covered in holes and small rips here and there, discoloration, and he felt like he wanted to die the more Tony just stood there and stared at him. ‘’I swear I’m telling the truth. I just needed, well, still do, need to eat.’’

‘’You do this a lot?’’ Tony asked, finally looking away and sliding the wallet back into his pocket. 

Peter shrugged a little, ‘’Only when I’m absolutely desperate.,’’ Peter winced, and heard Tony sigh, taking another moment to just look him over. Peter couldn’t hide the small shakes that wracked across his body; not really knowing if it was either from the hunger or being scared. Probably both. Peter could once again feel the tears fill his eyes. Tony ran a hand down his face and Peter hated how he flinched so obviously, so in order to divert the concerned stare that Tony had on his face now, he simply asked, ‘’Sir… Are you gonna call the cops?’’

‘’No,’’ Tony spoke, ‘’Let’s get you something to eat.’’ 

Tony then turned and began to walk, and Peter stood there for a moment until Tony stopped and looked back at him. Peter’s legs seemed to move before his mind even agreed to go. They made their way to the diner, Tony opened the door for Peter, allowing him to walk in first, and Peter could literally feel Tony’s eyes on him. They got situated in a booth in the back of the diner, and as soon as Peter sat down, he grabbed a menu and looked through it; partly so he could hide from Tony’s gaze and to hide his excitement of having a decent meal. 

‘’What’s your name, kid?’’ Tony asked, bringing up a hand to pull the menu down and away from Peter’s face. Peter contemplated giving him a fake name, but honestly, why bother? It’s not like he’s ever going to see him again. 

‘’Peter,’’ He said softly, and finally let the menu lay on the table. 

Just as Tony went to ask another question, a waitress appeared at the side of him.

‘’Good morning, what can I get for you today?’’ 

Peter heard Tony audibly groaned at the chirpiness of her voice, which he totally understood why; it was nine-thirty in the morning, who the fuck is that happy on a Monday morning? Peter let a small smirk and snort slip, which made Tony’s lips twitch up into a small smile.

‘’Just a black regular coffee for me,’’ Tony said and looked over to Peter who was now playing with his fingers and chewing his bottom lip. ‘’Go on,’’ Tony prompted. ‘’Get whatever you want, as much as you want.’’

Peter began his order to the waitress and tried to ignore the fact that Tony was holding back a chuckle since Peter took full advantage of Tony’s offer. Once the waitress left, Peter turned his head to gaze out of the window, and Tony wasted no time in getting back to questioning Peter.

‘’How old are you?’’ 

‘’Sixteen,’’ Peter answered, looking away from the window and glancing at Tony. 

‘’How’d you end up on the street?’’ 

Peter shuffled uncomfortably in the booth, eyes fixed on the window, and fingers tugging at the sleeves of his torn, tattered coat. ‘’Usually stuff, parents died, then my aunt and uncle died. Ended up in a home, ran away… That’s it.’’ Peter glanced at Tony who had his eyebrow raised. Peter let out a breath, ‘’That’s basically it. Just a series of unfortunate events. I didn’t do well in the home. The other kids were assholes. I was getting into fights, and acting out for the first time ever and I went to some dark places and I knew I had to get out of there. It’s better on the streets than- Than there.’’

Peter saw Tony’s expression soften, and gave him a look that he knew all too well. The same look he got from people who would pass him by when he first ended up on the street, but they’d keep walking and never look back. The pity sat heavy in his stomach and twisted until he felt sick. Peter diverted his gaze back out the window, shifting under the uncomfortable silence until he heard a plate being placed on the table. Tony drank his coffee in silence as Peter began to eat, never looking up from his plate and ate well past feeling full due to not knowing when he’d be able to eat again. He eventually pushed the clean plate away and looked up at Tony.

‘’Thank you,’’ Peter said timidly, and Tony offered a small smile as he finished his cup of coffee. 

‘’You’re welcome, kid.’’ Tony pulled out his wallet and Peter couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. Tony was paying with the money Peter had fully intended to steal from him. Tony then took out the remaining cash and held it over to Peter. ‘’Take it,’’ Tony instructed and even though Peter’s hand twitched to reach out for it, he shook his head. ‘’What? So, you’ll happily steal it but won’t take it when it’s given to you?’’

‘’Fuck you,’’ Peter scoffed, getting up out of his seat. ‘’I don’t wanna take it because I feel awful about it. Do you think I wanna live like this? Taking from other people just so I can have a bed for one night of the week and maybe eat every other day so I don’t fucking die? I don’t want it because you’ve done more than anyone has ever done for me in the past few years. You’re such an asshole. I shouldn’t have even bothered coming here with you.’’ Peter then turned and heard Tony get up as well. 

‘’Kid, _ wait- _ ’’

Peter whipped around, shaking his head. ‘’Save it.’’ Peter then rushed out of the diner. Peter hugged his arms around himself as he began to dart away from the diner, ignoring the sound of quick footsteps behind him until someone caught his arm and twirled him around. ‘’What is your problem?’’

‘’I didn’t mean to upset you,’’ Tony replied, grip still tight on Peter’s arm despite his efforts to tug his arm away. ‘’I didn’t. My mouth runs faster than my thoughts sometimes, and I didn’t mean to sound condescending.’’ Peter raised an eyebrow, which made Tony smirk. ‘’Okay, maybe I did, a little bit.’’

‘’Why do you care?’’ Peter asked, and finally pulled his arm from Tony’s grip. ‘’You did your good deed. You fed a homeless kid. You can run off and tell people a little story to make yourself look good from your multi-million dollar home and fall asleep soundly at night.’’

‘’Take the money, kid,’’ Tony instructed again, pulling the folded bills from his inside pocket and offering it out. ‘’Like you said… I’ll go back to my multi-million dollar mansion and sleep soundly knowing that you’re not sleeping on concrete for a little while. I’ve made quadruple of what I’m holding in the last thirty seconds so… You may as well take it.’’ 

Peter let out a frustrated sigh and snatched the money from Tony’s hand. ‘’There. You happy now?’’ 

Once Tony had given a small nod, Peter began to step backward. ‘’Thank you,’’ Peter offered and turned on his heels and headed back towards the local shelter, and kept his eyes on the sidewalk below his feet; hoping that Tony wasn’t following him anymore while also hoping that he was. Peter counted through the stack of bills, counting close to eight hundred dollars, and started to plan his money out to make it stretch. That’s when Peter stopped in his tracks, and looked up at the sky, letting out an annoyed sigh as he realized how thankful he actually was, and how he regretted how he spoke to Tony. 

‘’Fuck,’’ Peter cursed as he began to pace back towards the diner, hoping to run into Tony walking back to his car, or waiting for the car to come to him. He bumped shoulders with others as he broke into a slow run, looking around and whining in defeat when he made it to the diner, and Tony was nowhere in sight. ‘’Fuck, fuck, fuck,’’ Peter chanted, panting and still looking around. He eventually went inside to grab a cup of coffee and proceeded to sit down on the pavement outside the diner; telling himself that he wasn’t waiting, he simply had nowhere else to go. 

After sitting outside the diner for a while, feeling stupidly sorry for himself, Peter was about to stand and find a room for the night when a car pulled up and stopped by the sidewalk. Peter told himself to stay calm, to not get excited, although he had already memorized the car's number plate from hours before and it matched completely, his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest when the black-tinted window rolled down and Peter met eyes with Tony once again. Peter expected him to check if he was okay, before heading back to his home, to make sure he had sorted a room for the night. He expected literally anything else than what actually happened.

Peter kept his eyes on Tony as he broke eye contact and leaned across the backseat of the car and pushed the car door open. Peter was frozen still, unable to move, unable to think; unable to process anything that was happening around him. It felt like someone had stuffed his head and ears full of cotton wool. What snapped him out of it was a simple question,

‘’Are you getting in, or what?’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. Feel free to point out any mistakes you found, it's been a while since I've written anything so I'm stilll getting back into the swing of things. As always, feel free to tell me any ideas you have for the story, anything you want to happen.   
You can find me on Tumblr @thaliastxrk!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback helps a bunch! Comments keep me going! 
> 
> Until next time, bros!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr - poppypxrker


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